


Shave and a Haircut - Two Bits

by sanguisuga



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, barbershop au, just a bit of fluff, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 10:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17578880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: A bedraggled stranger wanders into Mycroft's shop after hours.





	Shave and a Haircut - Two Bits

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I started a while back - some people were lamenting not being able to go to that year's 221B Con, and the idea of 'consolation' fics came up. I asked for suggestions and got a couple - this was one of them! I have no recollection whatsoever of who requested it, but if any of my readers recognises their prompt, please do let me know!

Mycroft felt his shoulders tighten and his stomach drop as the chime on the door sounded behind him. Although he genuinely enjoyed his profession and was proud of the work he did, there always came a point near the end of the day when he’d quite had his fill of humanity. He often looked forward to shepherding everyone out at closing time - patrons and employees alike - using the ritual of cleaning the salon to clear his mind of any anxiety lingering from a busy day. But it seemed that in his eagerness to find some peace, he’d actually forgotten to lock the door after his final customer for the night.

Mycroft turned around slowly, trying on a professionally polite smile even as he held his broom in front of him like a barrier. He stopped short as he took in the figure standing just inside the door. Although somewhat bedraggled with what had clearly been a very long day, the man was startlingly handsome, with ridiculously large brown eyes and an improbable movie-star chin that offset the broadness of his shoulders to a highly pleasing degree. Although scruffy, he was attractive enough that Mycroft drew himself up, standing straighter and subconsciously sucking in his belly just a tiny bit.

The man looked him up and down, a faint smile crinkling at the corners of his lips before he hissed out a harsh breath of understanding. He threw a harried glance at his watch. “Christ.” He raised his hands in a vaguely placating gesture. “I didn’t realise the time - you’re closing up. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

He started to turn away, but Mycroft stepped forward before he quite realised it, perhaps a bit hastily. “No, it’s quite all right.” He tried to smile encouragingly as the man reached up to run a hand through his somewhat shaggy silver hair. “It’s no trouble at all.” Mycroft indicated the chair in front of his workstation as he set aside the broom. “Really. Please, sit.”

The grateful smile that was aimed at him frankly made Mycroft’s knees a little wobbly, but he shook it off as best as he could as the man slipped his mackintosh off and hung it up on the coat rack. Both it and the suit that was revealed were a little worse for wear, not necessarily for lack of means, but more likely a lack of concern. He was clearly a professional in the sense that he cared more for his job than he did his appearance, and Mycroft could hardly fault the man for that. But oh - to see him in something properly fitted -

_Or perhaps nothing at all._

Mycroft firmly tamped down his inconvenient libido as he unfurled the cape, draping it over his customer’s torso and fastening it at the neck. The man met his eyes in the mirror above the sink a little sheepishly, giving his head a little shake. “It’s a bit tragic at the mo, I’m afraid. Haven’t really had time lately, running all over these past few weeks on a case, but tonight...”

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow as he ran his fingers through the man’s soft silver hair, mapping out the previous cut and silently delighting in the little shiver his touch engendered. “Case?”

“I’m with the Met. We’ve been chasing down a bloke that, well - let’s just say he’s not the kind you’d bring home to Mum. Caught a bit of a break tonight and saw your light once it was all done and figured I’d treat myself. Maybe celebrate a bit, even.”

“Ah. So you’re the reason behind all those sirens earlier in the evening.” Mycroft glanced at the clock on the wall. “Several hours ago, in fact. You must be tired.”

The man grinned at him. “Technically, the perp was the reason back of all that noise, and it’s fairly amazing what four or five coffees in a short interval of time will do for your energy levels. ”

Mycroft tried to deliver a stern look as he spun the chair around and reclined the back so he could wash his customer’s hair. “I do hope you’re planning on cushioning all that caffeine with some food. It would be rather inconvenient if your heart decided to give out on you in the middle of a trim.”

“Ha! That would be bad form, wouldn’t it?” Another sharp grin was aimed in his direction, but it was softened somewhat as the man relaxed under Mycroft’s deft fingers. “Nah - food is definitely next on the agenda.” He cast a somewhat sly glance up to Mycroft’s face. “Met someone a bit earlier, thinking I’ll ask them to dinner once I’m made all pretty again.”

Mycroft’s stomach clenched slightly. “Ah, so you have a date waiting.”

“I just might.” The man hummed low as the warm water sluiced over his scalp, the deep rumbling tickling at the tips of Mycroft’s fingers. “Not sure quite yet.”

Mycroft squeezed as much water out of the man’s hair as he could after the second rinse, draping a towel over his head as he re-situated the chair and turned him back around. Taking up his comb after the towel was put to use and then discarded, he briskly ran it through the silver hair, once again meeting the man’s gaze in the mirror. “Let’s just tidy you up, then.”

Although most of his customers tended to be rather loud and bossy, used to their instructions being obeyed implicitly, this man seemed content to let Mycroft do with him as he liked. He followed the basic pattern of the cut before, adding a bit more shaping around the ears and along the nape of his neck. He left a bit more length on top, just enough that it stood up in slight spikes, but could be tamed by a swift sweep over the crown with just a touch of styling product.

The man’s eyes crinkled again with a soft smile as Mycroft added the finishing touches, fiddling with this bit here and plucking at a few strands there. He stood back for a moment and admired his handiwork, arching a brow as his customer cheered quietly.

“Much better than the fifteen quid job that I usually get.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. “I should bloody well hope so.” He tutted as he fussed over his customer a bit longer, somewhat reluctant to let him out of his chair.

The man tilted his head, watching the shine of his own hair caught in the somewhat harsh lighting. “What do you think about maybe colouring it?”

Mycroft levelled his best glare at the man, suppressing a proud smirk as he cowered back slightly. “I do believe that would be an unforgivable error. _I_ certainly wouldn’t do it. ”

His customer rallied with an improbably adorable pout and bloody _puppy-eyes_ , for God’s sake. “I’m all over grey - it makes me look like a doddering old man!”

Mycroft clucked his tongue. “It is _silver_ and it makes you look distinguished. To be frank, it’s the stubble that’s wearing you down. And the bags under your eyes.” He shrugged at the man’s soft gasp of horror. “Both are easy enough to deal with.”

“I don’t suppose you...” The man’s hand crept out from underneath the cape and scratched at his bristly cheek. “I mean, stubble burn wouldn’t leave such a great impression after a first kiss, would it?”

Mycroft shifted on his feet. “Of course. This is a full-service salon. I could even take you into the back and wax you from top to toe if you wanted.” He cleared his throat a little awkwardly as the man’s eyes seemed to darken even further, cursing internally as his fair skin betrayed him with a hearty blush. “A-hem. Still...” Mycroft ran the back of one finger along the man’s jaw, biting his lip as the dark eyelashes fluttered softly. “You make a good point - a favourable presentation is often key in ensuring that first dates are not _last_ dates.”

The man’s eyes dropped as his chair was once again reclined, calling out as Mycroft went to retrieve a hot towel. “I really do appreciate this - you taking the time to deal with my raggedy old arse.” He blinked up at Mycroft rapidly, taking in a short breath. “Really. Feel free to chuck me out - I mean, I don’t really deserve - no, I don’t know what I mean. Bugger.”

“Hush.” Mycroft deftly wrapped the towel around the man’s face so that just his nose stuck out, doing his damnedest to ignore his customer’s low groan of bliss as the heat sunk into his skin. But of course his libido was not as easy to ignore, and he set up a silent rebuke in his head as he gathered up the shaving lotion and his razor. He ran the blade over the strop a few times even though he hadn’t used it since the last time he honed it, setting it aside to remove the hot towel.

Mycroft snorted rather indelicately at the blissed-out expression that greeted him, the man’s large eyes hazy with fatigue. He began to work the warm shaving cream over his customer’s cheeks, swallowing hard as he practically purred in satisfaction. “If you’re that tired, perhaps you ought to make the date for another night.”

The man blinked up at him, his eyes sharpening again with almost startling speed. “No, I have a feeling that this is a ‘strike while the iron’s hot’ kind of thing. If I make excuses tonight, this bloke will just give me more reasons why he can’t come out on another evening.”

_Bloke._ Mycroft’s knees wobbled a bit, but he disguised the motion by reaching for the razor. “I see.” He took a moment as the man’s dark eyes twinkled up at him, knowing that his little start of surprise had not gone unnoticed. He brandished the razor purposefully, and his customer subsided, closing his eyes as he fought off a grin. Mycroft shook his head, chiding himself silently. Why had he assumed that the man’s ‘date’ for the night must be a woman?

Although he had always been strictly attracted to those of the male persuasion, Mycroft’s ‘gaydar’ - _Good Lord, what a horrid term_ \- had never been his strongest suit. Since straight was very nearly the default anyway, that was usually what he went with unless there were very obvious indicators otherwise. And it wasn’t like he had ever actively pursued anyone outside of establishments specifically designed for those of his particular ilk to find each other.

But if this was the sort of quarry that one might encounter out on the street, then perhaps he should revisit his usual hunting strategies. He let his eyes flicker over his customer again as he wiped the foamy bristles from the blade, his gaze lingering on the hand that was draped casually over the armrest of the chair. Convenient that it was the left hand, but then, as the man’s promisingly thick fingers twitched gently, perhaps it had been a rather deliberate action?

Mycroft huffed almost silently as he once more bent to his task. There was a mark on the third finger, but it was very faint, probably all but invisible in weaker light. So he had been married, most likely for a decade or so, but was clearly now single - and searching. His spouse undoubtedly had been a woman, considering the time frame, but the casual mention of pulling a bloke meant that he was bisexual at the very least. Or - _what was the term he was hearing lately?_ \- ah, yes - _pansexual._ Either way, Mycroft doubted that the man identified himself by either term. He was most likely the sort that ‘didn’t like labels’, or else he just called himself ‘available’ and left it at that.

_But would he be ‘available’ to me?_

Mycroft shook that thought out of his head as he scanned the man’s freshly-shorn cheeks for any stray bristles. No, he was a professional, by damn, and he was going to bloody well act like it. One simply did not hit on one’s clients, no matter how ridiculously good-looking or stupidly charming they may be. Even if he had never seen him before, and sincerely doubted that he would ever see him again.

His client sighed softly as Mycroft draped a fresh towel over his face, wiping away any traces of the foam. With a little dab of some brightener under each eye and a light application of aftershave, Mycroft once again set the chair to rights. He unsnapped the cape and removed it carefully, trying not to scatter any errant clippings on the man’s shoes.  

Mycroft was very aware of dark eyes tracking his every movement as he brushed the man down, taking his time to ensure that the broad shoulders were spotless. And to delay his inevitable departure, of course - but he was hardly going to admit that, not even to himself. Mycroft finally laid everything down and adjusted the chair slightly so that his customer wouldn’t topple into the sink when he stood.

He strode over to the cash register without waiting for the man to rise, conflicting impulses of wanting to lock him in the salon with him and getting him out as soon as possible warring within him. His customer didn’t seem all that fussed, strolling leisurely over as he reached for his wallet in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

He waited until Mycroft took his card and ran it through before asking if there were any decent restaurants nearby.

Mycroft shivered subconsciously. The man’s voice seemed to have darkened a bit, and the gravelly tone struck at something in the base of his spine. He cleared his throat before answering, sliding the charge slip over the counter. “I’m particularly fond of the Thai place two doors down to the left. Wonderful noodles. I tend to go for the rad nah, myself.” He quirked a small smile as his customer’s eyes darted up to his. “Perhaps not the best dish for a first date, however. It’s a bit - slurpy.”

The man snorted, then giggled. “Perhaps not.” His face went quietly stern as he tapped at the charge slip. “Thirty quid? For a cut _and_ a shave? You’ve undercharged me.”

Mycroft blushed as he tried to wave it off. “Consider it a gift for a hardworking member of London’s finest.”

Eyes narrowed slightly, the man reluctantly conceded, adding a generous tip before signing with a flourish. Mycroft took the slip and the business card that was pushed across the counter, his fingers trembling slightly as he lifted it up and read it. “Detective Inspector. Oh my.” He met those dark eyes again, feeling his cheeks tingle with heat. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lestrade.”

“None of that, please. Greg.”

Mycroft took the hand that was held out to him and shook. “Mycroft Holmes.”

He stared in absolute shock at the blinding grin that was turned on him, making a small noise of protest as the business card was plucked from his fingers. He watched in disbelief as a phone number was hastily scribbled on the back and handed back to him.

“The number on the front goes straight to my desk. If you ever find yourself in a spot of trouble, don’t hesitate to call.” Greg cleared his throat with a little quirk of his lips. “The other number is my mobile. You don’t have to be in trouble to call that one.”

Mycroft blinked rapidly before sliding the card under his computer keyboard. “I will take that under - advisement. Thank you, Greg.”

Greg reluctantly turned away, reaching for his overcoat and settling it into place. Mycroft followed him to the door, his brain swimming with equal measures of delight and confusion. He politely held the door open as Greg slipped through, turning back to him with a quick, “See ya.”

Mycroft murmured, “I certainly hope so,” as Greg turned to the left and walked down the pavement. He sighed heavily as he shut - and locked - the door, picking up his broom once again.

It was just a matter of moments before his station was once again spotless, although Mycroft did feel an odd pang as he dumped the bright silver cuttings in the bin. After washing his hands he went back to the till, preparing to count out the earnings for the day. Mycroft’s bum was just about to hit the stool when there was a solid knock on the glass door, startling him and nearly sending him to the floor.

His heart pounding with the sudden fright and near-spill, Mycroft shot a dark look at the door, only to feel his face break out into a broad grin. With his heart now pounding in a completely different rhythm, he hurried to the door to let in the man who was standing outside with takeaway bags in his hands.

Greg beamed as he shuffled back in. “Rad nah, was it? I took a chance on chicken.” He deposited his bags on the counter and shimmied his overcoat back off, turning somewhat sheepish eyes on Mycroft. “Took a chance on a few other items, too. It smelled so damn good in there.”

Mycroft laughed as he took Greg’s coat, hanging it back up. “And what about your date? Won’t he be displeased?”

Mycroft’s breath caught in his throat as Greg reached out to grab his hand. “I hope not. You do realise that was talking about _you_ , right?” He nestled their fingers together and gave Mycroft’s hand a little shake as his face twisted in befuddlement. “Silly man.”

“ _Oh._ Oh, I - um.” Mycroft bit his lip as he looked from Greg’s softly hopeful expression to the mass of food sitting next to his till. He stepped a bit closer, squeezing at Greg’s fingers. “I, um, live above the shop.” He gestured at the plastic bags. “This would be terribly awkward to eat here. Perhaps we should move it upstairs?”

In a flash, Greg had the bags in his hands and an eager expression on his face. Mycroft laughed as he led him to a door near the back. Greg crowded close as Mycroft unlocked the door, daring a tiny kiss on his cheek. To his surprise, Mycroft found himself purring quietly, leaning back to rub their cheeks together.

“Mm, smooth...” Mycroft inhaled deeply. “And that aftershave smells divine on you.”

His voice low and husky, Greg asked, “What is it?”

Mycroft swung the door to his flat open, gently dragging Greg in behind him. “If you’re very good, I’ll tell you.” He slammed the door shut. “In the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd or brit-picked. Characters not mine, but the situation definitely is!
> 
> If you'd like to get notifications from tumblr, I'm at 'bitemebat.tumblr.com'. Come follow me, and you'll get pretty boys and soft kitties on your dash!
> 
> (I'm also over on Dreamwidth and Pillowfort.io if anyone out there is giving them a shot - as 'sanguisuga'. Come follow me and join the 'mystrade' community! My Twitter handle is 'sanguisugaao3, but I hardly post anything interesting there.)


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